


graphite eyes

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec is pretty enamoured, Alternate Universe - Human, Flirting, Life Drawing, Life Model, M/M, Magnus is just pretty, Meet-Cute, Nude Modeling, One Shot, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Alec doesn’t know why he’s taking the damn class in the first place, but he sure as hell knows why he’s staying. The Life Model, a man called Magnus, is absolutelystunning.





	graphite eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I only tagged it as T because Magnus is naked, even if I don't really describe that. 
> 
> I did post this before, as a Pynch fanfic, but I think the person who came up with the prompt would rather have written it themselves, so I decided to delete that and apply the prompt to a different fandom. It's still my own writing, obviously, and I changed it a bit to fit their relationship. I hope you like it, it's just a bit of fun. And I've always wanted to write Magnus as a model, so here! Enjoy!

Alec shifts agitatedly on the chair. The stools are all wooden and uncomfortable, adding to his bad mood. He’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed – Izzy’s words, not his – and he’s already had a phone-call from Mayrse this morning, a phone-call that he’d declined, which would no doubt result in a stone-cold glare and a lecture when they eventually returned home from their holiday. 

There had been no orange juice left in the carton, which was still sitting in the usual place in the fridge, and Jace had been obnoxiously cheerful, chattering on about the pretty waitress who called him insufferable last time they went out to eat, and everything was grating on Alec’s last nerve. 

All in all, he’s had a bad morning, and it’s not about to get any better, because he’s got Life Drawing class. It’s an extra credit thing for – whatever reason, Alec doesn’t know, he wasn’t really listening. All he remembers from that particular conversation is Mayrse’s disapproving, solemn nodding as the expressionless tutor droned on and on about things Alec couldn’t care less about, and then suddenly he’d been shoved in a Life Drawing class and told to bring in better pencils next time. 

Turns out, he’s not actually bad at drawing. His first few drawings were a bit awful, but he’s gotten better with practice. It’s still definitely not his favourite thing to do, especially not when he’s in a bad mood. 

Alec usually likes college. He likes learning, likes stretching his mind and absorbing new things, likes the structure and the set-up of it all. But he’s having a bad day, a bad week, if he’s honest, and the Life Drawing thing is a recent development, an extra bucket-load of stress that he really didn’t need.

He shifts again, scraping the legs of his chair against the linoleum with a sharp screech. Clary, the girl next to him with the home-cut hair and wacky clothes, stops sharpening her graphite pencil to glower at him from under her lashes. He’s pretty sure she’s the same girl that recently insulted Jace, but he’s not about to ask and make it look like he cares. 

“You don’t have to look so miserable all the time, you know,” Clary says lightly, turning back to her pencils. Some are worn down to little stubs, but they all look well-cared for, neatly lined up in a row. 

“I hate this,” Alec mutters under his breath. “I hate this class. It’s wasting time, when I could be spending it finishing my latest essay. We just sit and draw the same stupid stuff for an hour.”

“Not today,” Clary chirps happily, ignoring his glare. “We’ve got a new model today.”

Alec groans, but there’s an excited buzz around the room as a few people catch onto her words, a murmur that flitters from person to person. 

“Great. As long as it’s not another old person. I never want to have to draw a wrinkle ever again.”

Clary purses her lips and shoots him a distasteful look, turning to talk to the person on her left. Alec flips to a clean page of his sketchbook, shifting on the chair again. He wishes he was literally anywhere but here – or at the very least, that the model would hurry the hell up. 

The curtain in the corner of the room ripples suddenly, as if sensing his thoughts, and out walks a man about Alec’s age. Alec blinks a few times as the man walks towards the middle of the room and sheds his white robe, settling onto the chair waiting for him. He walks, not with confidence, but with a self-assuredness that Alec can admire. 

Alec barely hears the instructor’s introduction, or the appreciative giggles from a few immature people on the left side of the room. He’s too busy staring as his brain shuts down completely. 

Alec doesn’t know why he’s taking the damn class in the first place, but he sure as hell knows why he’s staying. The Life Model, a man called Magnus, is absolutely _stunning_. 

*

Alec’s always been told that he’s an aloof, stand-offish sort of person, but right now his brain is breaking, and he’s the farthest from subtle he’s ever been in his whole life. He keeps outright staring instead of carefully studying Magnus from an artists’ point of view. 

His eyes sweep over the thin, sharp collarbones that jut out, the fine cheekbones that could cut crystal, the planes and valleys of dark skin that glows softly in the warm light. He can’t stop looking at his hands, at each finely crafted knuckle and joint and worn, rounded fingernail. He bets they’d look good with rings on them. 

The whole time he’s staring, his hand is moving, skating over the paper with easy strokes. He’s never drawn anything quite as good as this before. The hands are a little darker, a little more in focus than the rest of him, and his eyes look bright even when sketched in graphite. Magnus is a vision, an embodiment of dusky evenings and a hint of sultry and warm; refreshing, a breath of fresh air, and utterly mesmerising. 

Alec feels a strange sense of melancholy steal over him as the lesson comes to a close, and Magnus smiles as he accepts the robe from the instructor. 

“Thanks for having me,” Magnus says, and his voice is little more than a murmur, but he still sounds assured, strong. Alec glances at the sketch in front of him and does a double-take. It’s definitely the best thing he’s ever drawn, and Clary clearly agrees, from the surprised noise she makes as she leans over his shoulder. One of her eyebrows lifts in obvious amusement. 

“Well, somebody certainly enjoyed themselves,” Clary drawls. 

Alec swears at her, scowling as he flips his sketchbook over. 

“Who says I was talking about you?” Clary asks sweetly, and when Alec glares at her in confusion, she jerks her head towards the middle of the room. Alec turns slowly, and catches sight of Magnus looking his way, eyes fixed intently on him. His smile turns victorious when Alec stares at him, a slow thing that makes Alec’s stomach flip. 

He was so focused on watching that he never noticed Magnus watching him back. 

“I really wouldn’t let that pass you by, if I were you,” Clary says. She packs up her things and gives a little wave as she strolls out of the class, bag slung over her shoulder. Alec watches her go grimly, and turns back to find Magnus still standing in the centre of the room. He’s making small-talk with the instructor, who looks delighted at the attention, but his eyes keep flickering towards Alec, who ducks his head to hide a grin and starts packing things away, slowly. 

He’s rewarded for his patience when Magnus’s smile turns slightly strained and he makes an excuse to the instructor, before making a beeline straight for Alec. His robe is pulled open a little as he walks, revealing little slips of skin here and there. For some reason, it’s all the more intimate now, despite the fact that Alec’s been staring at his naked body for the past hour. 

Magnus pauses in front of him, cocking his hip against Alec’s easel. “Can I see?”

Alec startles slightly, both eyebrows raising. Magnus doesn’t sound cocky or demanding, just like he knows what he wants, and damn if that isn’t hot. He shrugs, tries to look casual as he indicates the sketchbook with a flick of his wrist, but he expects he actually looks like a blushing mess. 

Magnus flips the page over and stares in surprise.

His eyes drift back to Alec. “Not bad.”

“You barely even looked,” Alec scoffs. 

Magnus’s once-over is pretty obvious, and Alec would choke on his tongue if he weren’t busy trying to be smooth. “Trust me, I saw enough to know that I liked it.”

Alec makes a decision, then and there, and reaches over to peel away the paper from the sketchbook. His number goes down easily on the back of the paper – Alec doesn’t often use his phone, but he’ll make an exception here – and he stands up to press the sketch against the gap in Magnus’s robe, feeling the firm hardness of his chest and the swift thrum of his heartbeat. Magnus’s hand comes up automatically to grab it, fingers brushing against Alec’s. 

“If you like it so much, you can have it,” Alec says, faux-casually. 

Magnus’s grin is so blindingly pretty that Alec almost takes a step back. He stares a little vacantly at white, straight teeth and pink lips, and then blinks back to awareness as Magnus steps away, holding the sketch like it’s something precious. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Magnus says, and then he’s striding across the room and ducking under the curtain. Alec sits back down on the stool, hard. 

Alec doesn’t know why he’s taking the damn class in the first place, but he knows he’s coming back.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, hope you liked it. Thank you so much! Please leave a comment/kudos if you liked it and come say hey/leave prompts @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr. Thank you!


End file.
